


Lovers and Madmen

by lovelycarcass



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A Midsummer Night's Dream AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hobgoblin Mickey, Humor, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Magical Mickey Milkovich, Mutual Pining, Pining, Spells & Enchantments, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycarcass/pseuds/lovelycarcass
Summary: Sweet Ian Gallagher was meant to love fiery Mandy Milkovich; clever Philip Gallagher was destined to fall for wild Karen Jackson.All he has to do is smear some of Svetlana’s love juice on their eyes, get the fools to pair up, and then he’ll finally escape his eternal fate as an enslaved hobgoblin. Easy peasy, right?OrMickey messes up epically on a matchmaking quest. (Gallavich happens.)A Midsummer Night’s Dream AU





	1. Lord, what fools these mortals be!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really excited about this AU. I love magic and this story is (very) loosely based on A Midsummer Night's Dream. If you're familiar with the premise, basically, Mickey is Puck, and the four lovers are Ian, Mandy, Lip and Karen.
> 
> I already have most of the chapters mapped out and written, so updates should be fairly frequent, depending on how fast I edit.
> 
> Thank you for reading:)

The night air is warm.

His skin prickles with sweat and heat. He isn’t used to his human skin, yet; so thin and soft, weak against the sun and rain and cold. The young hobgoblin scratches his neck absently with one hand and clutches a tiny, purple vial with the other. He is perched on a soot-colored roof that looks like it could collapse if he should shift his weight carelessly.

The Milkovich house.

The roof is the perfect observation deck despite its crumbling state. There are strategically situated cracks that allow him to peep into the private interior of the house, without being noticed by its inhabitants.

The hobgoblin’s blue eyes are bright as he astutely observes the fragile beings moving about in the house. He allows a smirk when he sees one of his assigned mortals.

Mandy Milkovich has a scowl on her face, her blue eyes narrowed. Her nose ring glints under the flicker of the fluorescent light in the house. Her brothers, Iggy and Colin, have matching sneers on their faces. The Milkovich siblings are arguing, and the hobgoblin knows by intuition that this isn’t a rare occurrence.

The moon is not yet completely round tonight, and the hobgoblin knows that in three days, it will grow into a full circle, the perfect moment when Svetlana’s magic works best.

The Fairy Queen’s powers are the stuff of complex, ancient magic, and the hobgoblin knows what little magic he has will never measure up to her powerful spells. It’s why he has never (seriously) tried to escape his eternal enslavement. Imagine his great surprise and eagerness when Svetlana, in a rare, good mood (having been thoroughly intoxicated after one of her parties), generously decides to offer him a chance - to be free.

It’s little wonder why he jumps at the opportunity.

He knows his mission, understands the instructions well. There are exactly four drops of Svetlana’s special brew of _love-in-idleness_ in the purple vial. One drop for each mortal under his care.

The hobgoblin is not yet well acquainted with the physical appearance of his assigned humans, but he knows the bare differences between the masculine and the feminine bodies. Mandy is the only female in the Milkovich household, which makes her the easiest to identify and approach, and therefore has been carefully selected as his first target.

Stealthily, he leaps off the roof and lands lightly at the doorstep.

The hobgoblin may not be as powerful as Svetlana the Fairy Queen, but he does have some tricks up his sleeve.

Muttering an incantation under his breath, the hobgoblin hides the purple vial in his pocket and a devilish grin forms on his face as he saunters cockily into the house.

“Who the fuck are you?” Iggy demands, catching sight of the intruder.

Colin and Mandy turn to see a pale man with cornflower blue eyes and hair as dark as the night.

“Fuck, Iggy. This a joke? I’m your brother, Mickey Milkovich,” the stranger retorts, rolling his eyes.

A strange gust of wind sweeps through the house.

The Milkovich siblings’ eyes glaze over briefly. In one of the rooms, the deafening snores of Terry Milkovich stutter like a broken record, and the filthy man shudders in his slumber.

Then, the strange wind settles around the house like an invisible blanket. The hobgoblin’s presence worms itself into the Milkovich family’s fabric; the family tapestry of childhood memories is interwoven with new threads: huddling in front of the television with Mandy, sharing smokes with his brothers, and nursing bruises from Terry’s many drunken tirades.

It is a powerful spell - one of the most difficult Mickey has had to perform - because he is using magic to create a blood-based kinship.

Mickey feels the invisible threads amplify, twisting and winding themselves around the individual memories of the Milkovich siblings, before encasing his new body like old skin.

Terry’s snoring resumes, and the cloudy eyes of the Milkovich siblings begin to clear.

Mandy rolls her eyes, “Assface.”

“Douchebag,” Mickey returns her greeting with a playful grin.

“Where the hell were you the whole damn week?” Iggy asks, fishing around his pockets for a smoke.

Mickey plucks a cigarette from his pocket and offers it to his brother, receiving a grudging nod of thanks.

“Fucking hell, Iggy. I’ve been in juvie for months, and you only noticed I was gone for the week?” Mickey snorts.

“Oh right,” Iggy frowns, his expression clearing at the new information. 

Colin tries pinching away the cigarette from his lips, but Iggy swats at his hands irritably, blowing out smoke.

“Where the hell’s dad?” Mickey asks, even though he already knows.

“Can’t you hear the fuckin’ chainsaw going on? In his room,” Mandy mutters, crossing her arms.

“What’s got you all pissy?” Mickey smirks.

“Bitch here has got a puppy crush on one of the Gallagher brothers. And she’s pissed that we roughed him up.” Colin rolls his eyes.

“Gallagher brothers?” Mickey repeats, eyebrows shooting up with interest. 

“The smart one,” Iggy answers absently. “Lip or something. Fuckin’ stupid name.”

“It’s short for Philip,” Mandy retorts, her face flaming.

Mickey’s grin dies. He tries to stifle the growing panic at the unexpected setback in his plans.

Mandy’s got her eye on the wrong fucking Gallagher.

Svetlana specifically instructed him that Mandy was to be matched with an Ian Gallagher, and this Philip Gallagher was to be paired with a Karen Jackson.

Quickly, he sieves through Mandy’s memories for any useful information. 

“Wait – isn’t…there a Gallagher in your class or somethin’?” Mickey points out.

“That’s Ian,” Mandy says. “He’s Lip’s little brother.”

“And you’re not…planning on fucking him?”

Iggy and Colin howl with laughter as Mandy’s face turns bright red.

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Mandy spits. “Just because the whole damn town thinks I’m a slut doesn’t give you the right to call me one.”

“I didn’t -”

Mandy stalks back into her room and slams her door.

“Dude, don’t give her any ideas man,” Colin laughs breathlessly. “Y’know she’ll go through all the Gallagher brothers if she could.”

Mickey frowns. He has three days before the nearest full moon, and if he fucks it up, he’ll have to wait for another whole month. He’s not confident that Svetlana will be willing to extend her generosity till the next full moon.

This is becoming more complicated than he’d thought.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Mickey tries to make amends with Mandy, but she’s having none of it. He decides to bide his time and heads to school with his sister before reevaluating his plans.

His little memory-altering trick has extended nicely to his peers at school as well, he notes with suppressed pride. Mickey has always been a good storyteller, and his latest narrative seems to be serving him well. He notices a few people shooting nervous glances as he ambles through the hallway, cocky grin in place. His fabricated cover as the dirty, violent neighborhood thug has safely blanketed his less-than-human identity.

It’s not very often that Mickey gets sent on new quests, so he decides to revel in his newfound authority in the neighborhood and have some fun. Never one to shy away from mischief, Mickey hangs around the lockers and uses his fake backstory to collect “debts” from unsuspecting humans.

The idea turns out to work in his favor, because he manages to overhear some useful gossip at the lockers. Apparently Lip Gallagher is already dating Karen Jackson, which, huh, makes his job a whole lot easier. Mickey knows the mechanics of human courtship. The foolish mortals are going to want to be around each other all the damn time, so when the time comes for him to spill Svetlana’s _love-in-idleness_ , at least one pair of his assignment is going to be cooperative.

Now, he just has to gently steer Mandy Milkovich towards the right Gallagher, and he will be well on his way towards freedom.

As luck would have it, Mickey bumps into the Gallagher brothers in the smoking area.

Pretending to observe the weather as he smokes (Mickey doesn’t understand the enjoyment of smoking, but it fits the neighborhood thug stereotype), Mickey discreetly tries to inch towards the brothers.

He doesn’t want to move too closely towards them and risk looking suspicious, so he keeps a fair distance away. They are arguing in low tones, and Mickey has to strain his ears to pick up bits of their conversation.

“Fucking periodic table…Karen…” the green-eyed redhead is saying.

“…Just a test…Chill the fuck out,” the blue-eyed one with the curls replies.

Mickey stubs the cigarette irritably. He's never been very good at names - fairies and sprites and goblins rarely addressed one another by name because they had so many. Mickey’s going to need some more distinctive clues to be able to tell the identities of the Gallagher brothers.

This is where the limit of his magic sets in. Since he’s assumed the identity of a member in the Milkovich household, he can’t assume a new identity until his old magic wears off.

As far as his mind-reading abilities go, Mickey is unable to influence human will or read thoughts of those whom are not deeply connected to his presence.

Otherworldly beings like Mickey are well aware: for every piece of ancient magic, blood has always been one of the most powerful binding tools. Claiming an identity so intrinsically connected to the Milkovich name allows him to unspool the old threads of existing memories and then reconnect the loose ends by spinning his own tale like a yarn.

It’s why he was able to retrieve information from Mandy’s headspace before - a magic bolstered by newly woven blood ties - but any attempt to breach the Gallagher brains would be futile.

He should have adopted himself into the Gallagher household instead - had he known that the brothers were going to be the more complicated assignments to identify.

He has only just wrapped around his head the sheer number of Gallaghers running around, and this is pronounced by the fact that in the past two days, Mickey only just managed to figure out the name of the biracial baby in the household.

“Relax, dude, he’s not gonna kill you,” Blue eyes argues, his voice louder now.

“Karen Jackson’s dad fucking saw her suck my dick!” The redhead’s voice pierces through the air like a librarian's hiss.

Mickey whips his head around and he meets the redhead’s green eyes.

_Lip Gallagher._

Panic flickers across the redhead’s face.

He swivels towards his brother, “I’m gonna head to class now. Oh, and Mandy Milkovich wants you to tutor her in Chemistry, too. Apparently you’ve made a name with your _tutoring abilities_.”

Mickey can practically feel the gears in his head moving. The redhead has to be Lip, who is currently dating Karen Jackson. This makes the blue-eyed boy his brother, Ian Gallagher.

Which makes total sense, because Ian’s in Mandy’s class, and Mandy needs help with her chemistry, so who better to consult than her own classmate?

The redhead – Lip – darts another nervous look at Mickey, before turning on his heel and leaving the smoking area.

Ian Gallagher, who’s just noticed Mickey, looks at him critically.

Mickey schools his features into a bored look, flicks the cigarette onto the ground and strides away.


	2. Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey sets his plan in motion.

Mickey won't admit it to anyone else, but _human_  looks good on him, he thinks wryly. For the first time in his existence, Mickey feels comfortable in his own skin. It's not as if it's the first time he's shape-shifted into a human form, but it's the first time he's truly appreciated the appeal of a short-lived mortal life. His siblings, for example, live each day like vicarious hell raisers, with the persistent thought that they could be dead in the ditch in the next. In all his quests, Mickey hasn't seen any family the likes of the Milkoviches. They seem to inflict more abuse on one another than on other people in the neighborhood, almost as if they could protect themselves if they showed others how much they didn't care for one another. 

In a dark, twisted way, Mickey finds himself understanding their warped dynamics. If they pushed one another hard enough or decorated their own skin with enough bruises, poison from outside forces would almost be trifling in comparison. Their sharp edges hurt themselves, but also serve as their strongest armor. Eventually, Mickey comes to discover that he has evolved from studying the Milkoviches as an observer into stepping into the Milkovich skin. 

He can't quite explain why his identity as Mickey Milkovich is growing on him. It could be the unpredictability of the Southside, or the the roach-like mentality of the Milkoviches that somehow appeals to him. All his life, he's been trying to escape boredom from eternal enslavement, when the Milkoviches are convincing themselves that they are doomed to die young.

Looking from the inside is a curiously fascinating experience compared to looking outside in. Having folded himself into the Milkovich family, Mickey sometimes sees the odd quirk of a smile and the faint lines of concern beneath the dead-eyed scowls and white-knuckled violence. In particular, Mickey sees the softer side of his sister, and he feels an irrational surge of brotherly protectiveness when he catches glimpses of Mandy's split-second vulnerability, before she quickly masks the look with a Milkovich sneer.

Before he's even realised it, Mickey is finding himself unwittingly invested in Mandy's happiness.

The slight complication is that Mandy’s still not speaking to him, but Mickey finds out that Ian Gallagher tripped over a horny teacher at school and this earns him some brownie points with Mandy. Which also wins him some points in Mickey’s book.

Mickey also finds out that Ian works at the Kash and Grab, the neighborhood grocery shop.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Mickey to fix things between the Ian-Mandy couple, and score more points for Ian, so that Mandy will give up on her fixation over Lip Gallagher for good. Mickey is feeling so confident of his plan that he gets to the Kash and Grab in an unusually good mood.

Imagine his surprise when, instead of Ian Gallagher, Mickey comes face to face with a green-eyed redhead.

“Uh, Gallagher?” Mickey says dumbly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

What he really wants to ask is, where the hell is your brother?

Lip eyes Mickey curiously, “Mickey Milkovich. Mandy’s brother, right?”

“Yes,” Mickey answers defiantly, as if Lip might have any chance of seeing through his disguise.

“Heard you just got back from juvie,” Lip notes, green eyes flickering towards the candy section distractedly.

Mickey mentally runs through his fictionalized backstory. Right, he’d shoplifted several times from the Kash and Grab. Part of the neighborhood thug cover story. He’s unable to get into Lip’s brain, but he sure as hell can get into his own brain. In his narrative, he’s had several chance encounters with Lip at the store. Did the brothers take turns to work at the Kash and Grab?

The memories are sketchy at best, but humans don’t look too closely at old memories, let alone weak ones with acquaintances, so Mickey’s not too concerned about blowing his cover. He’s been hasty with the storytelling, leaving large gaps and plot holes in his narrative, so he’ll just have to make things up as they go.

“Towelhead miss me?” Mickey sneers, referring to the storeowner.

Lip rolls his eyes, setting his palms against the counter.

“So what are you doin’ here, Mick? Grew some civic pride and finally decided to pay for your purchases?”

Mickey’s distracted by his toned arms. A quick flip through his mental catalogue reminds him that Lip Gallagher used to be scrawny as hell, until puberty hit.

Wait, Mickey shakes his head slightly. Focus.

“Where’s your brother?” Mickey demands.

Lip frowns, “Which one?”

“Ian,” Mickey says exasperatedly.

Lip’s expression changes slightly, jaw dropping, freckled face turning pink.

“That’s the first time you’ve - ” He shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Never mind. Mickey, I have no idea what you want, ok?”

Lip squares his jaw and tries to look stern, which Mickey thinks is ridiculously futile and not adorable at all. “I don’t care what you have against any of my brothers. We want nothing to do with you.”

Mickey blinks.

That hurt a bit. Contrary to popular belief, hobgoblins have feelings, too, ok?

Mickey clears his throat. He’s got to focus.

There must have been some mistake along the way, because apparently Lip Gallagher’s the one working at the Kash and Grab, not Ian. Well, sue him. Hobgoblins make mistakes, too.

Since Ian isn’t around, Mickey will just have to work on the Lip-Karen pair first. Adapting to situations and all that.

“Whatever,” he snorts derisively. “I overheard you, by the way. That Karen Jackson sucked your dick.”

Lip widens his green eyes. Flustered, he rakes his fingers through his copper hair.

“That’s – none of your business!”

“It’s not,” Mickey agrees. “Just tellin’ ya how I heard it. And Karen Jackson’s a fine piece of ass. So you’re a lucky dude.”

The strangest expression takes over Lip’s face.

“We’re not - ” he splutters. “I’m not with Karen.”

“Oh, but you will want to be,” Mickey smirks devilishly, winking at Lip.

Dropping his façade, Mickey swings out of the Kash and Grab and rolls his eyes. Insipid mortals and their indecisiveness; their fear of emotional commitment. The night of the full moon, when Mickey strikes with the love magic, young Lip won’t even know what hit him.

 

* * *

 

Karen Jackson turns out to be the most straightforward of the lot.

Mickey convinces her easily that he’s got some fancy new weed that he’s looking to share, and that he’s got Lip Gallagher in on his plans to get high on the night of the full moon. He sneakily hints that Lip is also looking forward to a hook up on the day of the full moon. And if his offer of quality weed doesn’t seal the deal, Lip wanting to fool around does the trick. Karen Jackson is quickly agreeable.

She’s hardly even suspicious of Mickey’s unusual generosity, because it makes total sense that Lip wants to get high and have sex.

Well, Mickey’s not about to challenge her easy acceptance.

 

* * *

 

The day of the full moon arrives, and Mickey can feel his blood thrumming in his veins, can already taste the first notes of freedom. There is a crackle of energy in the air, simmering lowly. Humans can’t feel the moon’s energy as strongly, but Mickey has heard cases of people becoming delirious with the heady pulse of magic.

According to his plan, by nightfall, Karen Jackson will have invited Lip Gallagher to the Jackson household. Meanwhile, Ian Gallagher shall be tutoring Mandy Milkovich in the Gallagher household.

And once Mickey works his magic (or rather, Svetlana’s magic), and puts the lovers to bed, they will wake up bearing eyes only for their soul mates.

Mickey can’t care less about love and feelings. As long as he gets the job done, he doesn’t have to spend another day being treated like a lowly hobgoblin, and he can spend the rest of his days, frolicking around wildflowers…or whatever it is that freed hobgoblins do.

Well, Mickey hasn’t really mapped out his freedom properly, but Mickey’s sure he’s going to have an absolutely marvelous time.

“Mandy, aren’t you running late for your tutoring thing?” Mickey asks nonchalantly. He looks over at his sister lazily, before turning back to the video game he’s supposed to be concentrating on.

Mandy has been successful at ignoring her brother for the past few days, but his comment throws her off.

“How did you know that?” She demands, stopping in her movements. She’s been trying to tug the collar of her top, pulling it further down the neckline.

Mickey drops the console on his hands and sighs irritably. “Look, he’s not going to care what you wear, ok? So you’ve gotta hurry the fuck up and go over to the Gallagher’s house now.”

Mandy’s probably trying to impress Lip Gallagher, but she doesn’t need to know that fate has another Gallagher brother in store for her.

“The fuck does that even mean?” Mandy narrows her eyes, a slight tinge of hurt coloring her expression.

“Listen, he’s going to love you no matter what you look like,” Mickey tells her, softening his tone. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mandy blinks in bewilderment at her brother, before her lips quirk into a small smile.

“That’s, like, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Mickey slips the purple vial from his pocket and discreetly spills a single drop on his hand. He hops off the couch and walks towards his sister.

Then, very casually, he pulls his sister into a playful headlock. “Probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to you, dickbreath,” Mickey points out, laughing. With one hand hooked around his sister’s neck, Mickey smears his other hand – specially coated with _love-in-idleness_ – onto his sister’s face. He makes sure to get a few messy rubs at her eyes and nose.

“Fuck, let go of me, Mick!” Mandy yells, finally breaking free.

Mickey smirks, as his sister glares at him. “Should have known you were up to no good.”

He shrugs as Mandy flips him off and gaits out of their house.

Ok, that’s one human down.

A few moments after Mandy leaves, he quickly ambles along the streets and heads towards the Kash and Grab.

Mickey walks into the store, getting ready for his next target, only to see Kash Karib behind the counter instead of Lip Gallagher.

“Where’s Gallagher?”

Kash averts his eyes. “He’s not here.”

“I can see that for myself, thanks,” Mickey sneers, rolling his eyes. “I asked, where the fuck is he?”

“Probably picking up the baby at the Jackson’s.” Kash reveals warily. “What did he do to you?”

“That’s none of your fucking business, towelhead,” Mickey points out, swiping a snickers bar.

To his surprise, and slight amusement, Kash shakily raises a gun.

“Put the candy back,” Kash mutters, trying to stop the tremor in his hands. “I should have known you’d be back after getting out.”

Mickey barks out a laugh. He reaches out easily, clasping his fingers around Kash’s. Kash stills his fingers around the cool hardness of the gun.

“Scared of a little gun? Think I can handle that for ya.” He skillfully swipes the gun from Kash’s hands, tucking it into the back of his pants.

Kash merely deflates, a look of resignation on his face.

“See ya around!” Mickey calls out cheerfully, ripping the snickers bar open for his first bite. Yum. Mortal food is pretty heavenly.

Things seem to be going according to plan.

Except that he spots Ian Gallagher – the wrong brother – having a smoke outside the Jackson’s porch. He should have known that the Gallagher brothers would be less than cooperative.

Rolling his eyes, Mickey spills another drop of the love potion onto his hand, and saunters right up to the dirty blonde.

Ian’s sleepy blue eyes widen in recognition when he spots Mickey.

“Milkovich? What are you - ”

Mickey throws a straight punch into Ian’s eye.

“What the fuck!” Ian howls, pressing his hands towards his injured eye.

Mickey laughs, making sure to leave a few condescending pats onto Ian’s face with his hand.

“Better take care of that shiner at home, Gallagher.”

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Ian moans. Mickey can see him deliberating whether or not to return a hit or two, but eventually his rational side wins and he sighs, stalking away angrily.

Smart man.

Two humans down.

And the Ian-Mandy pair is well on their way to the Gallagher's place. That was easy enough.

Mickey lopes casually into the Jackson house, looking for Karen Jackson.

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” Sheila Jackson, Karen’s eccentric mother, asks in bewilderment. She darts her eyes fearfully towards his feet. “Um, your shoes…”

“Karen Jackson around?”

“Why are you looking for her? And about your shoes…”

“She owes me some money.” Mickey waves a hand dismissively. Then he frowns. “Gallagher here to pick up the baby already?”

If Kash Karib had been telling the truth, Lip Gallagher should still be around.

“Ian came by earlier.”

“Just saw him leave,” Mickey admits. Well, Sheila doesn’t need to know that he was the one who made Ian Gallagher leave. Except that he hadn’t been carrying the Gallagher baby. Or any baby at all.

A prickle of unease creeps up Mickey’s neck. There’s something decidedly _off_ , but Mickey can’t quite tell what.

Maybe he put the baby back, and then came by to have a smoke. Mortals can be pretty weird sometimes, with their inconvenient habits.

“Ok so where the fuck is Karen?” Mickey demands, losing his patience for the batty lady.

“Can you take off your goddamn shoes before my mother loses her mind?” Karen spits, appearing from around the corner.

Mickey looks down at his feet, annoyed. He takes a step out of the house, and Sheila Jackson sighs dramatically with relief. “Thought I told you to get Lip over.”

“I did,” Karen Jackson rolls her eyes. “Should be here any minute.” Then she frowns. “Maybe he’s stuck at home babysitting and has to bail on us. It’s happened a couple times.”

“Ok, fucking hell,” Mickey exhales heavily.

“Come on,” Karen says, sneaking a look at her mother, who is currently cleaning the kitchen. “Where’s your stuff? We can just head down to the basement; Lip will join us when he can.”

“You know what?” Mickey sighs. “Just get over to the Gallagher’s house. We’ll do it over there.”

Karen eyes him suspiciously. Mickey rolls his eyes. Seriously? Of all times to become suspicious, Karen Jackson just had to pick the most critical night.

Mickey snaps, “What are we waiting for, fuckin’ Christmas? We’re not doing this without Lip, man. Just get your ass over at the Gallagher’s right now.”

“Ok, ok,” Karen relents, rolling her eyes. “Chill the fuck out. Since when did you start hanging out with Lip, man?”

“Nah, he’s cool. I just don’t want him fucking around with my sister,” Mickey retorts. Which is true.

Karen grabs a bag and calls out, “Don’t wait up, Mom.”

Sheila merely nods hastily, eager to get the damn door closed and the house free from ‘outside contamination’.

Mickey recognizes a chance when he sees it, so he eagerly unscrews the purple bottle and drops the love potion onto his fingers, rubbing its essence around.

Then he swats his hand at Karen’s face, nearly poking her eye.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You had something in your eye,” Mickey mutters, pretending to brush invisible dirt off Karen’s face. “Ok, it’s gone.”

Karen shoots him a dark look, but she finally huffs and sets off on the course of her one true love.

It will be messy, with all four humans in the same place. But as long as they wake up and set their first sights upon the right partner, Mickey’s mission will be accomplished.

One last human to go.

 

* * *

 

Lip Gallagher turns out to be the trickiest of the lot. Because he’s neither at the Jackson’s, nor at the Gallagher home. But he’s bound to turn up somehow, so Mickey’s planning to strike when he’s least suspecting it.

Whistling softly, Mickey plucks the love juice from his pocket…

He plucks the love juice…

Which is not in his pocket.

Fuck.

He spins around, trying to retrace his steps as he surveys the streets for a purple vial.

Mickey tears down the street, towards the Milkovich house, and comes face to face with a certain copper-haired boy.

“Gallagher, why the fuck are you here?” Mickey is very confused. Lip should be at Gallagher’s place, not outside the Milkoviches’, looking suspiciously like he was planning to raid the house. “Aren’t you stuck babysittin’ or something?”

Lip rolls his eyes. “Liam’s with Fiona.”

“Ok so why the fuck are you here?”

“I was, er, looking for Mandy,” Lip bites his lip nervously.

Mickey huffs out a breath. “Dude, Mandy is over you, ok?”

Lip frowns, looking confused. And then he exhales loudly. “Ok, I lied, actually I was looking for you.”

“Me?”

“I know what you did,” Lip musters bravely. “Give me the gun, Mickey.”

“What gun?”

Lip merely looks pointedly at him, crossing his arms.

Oh right. Damn towelhead.

“Look I don’t have time for you, ok? I’m looking for something important,” Mickey waves him off, trying to squint in the darkness. Damn the Southside and its damn broken streetlamps.

“Give me the damn gun and I’ll let you go,” Lip insists.

“How about you help me look for the damn thing and I’ll give you your gun,” Mickey mutters distractedly.

Lip considers this for a moment. “Ok, fine. What are you looking for?”

“Small, purple thing. A bottle.”

“What is it exactly?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Lip rubs his face, sighing. “Ok, fine. How about we split ways. You go towards this way and I go towards the opposite way. I’ll come and get you when I find it.”

Mickey searches Lip’s face for any sign of a trick. Well, Mickey isn’t going to stop him if he’s going to bring the bottle of _love-in-idleness_ to Mickey and walk right into his plans.

“Ok,” Mickey agrees. “But you have to come back here by midnight.” That’s when the magic is the most potent, and once Mickey applies the potion onto Lip’s eyes, he’s going march him right into the Gallagher’s house and wait for the day to break.

Lip narrows his green eyes. “And you have to give me the gun. Do you promise?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Fuck, yes, yes, I fucking promise.”

Ian and Mandy are well on their way to true love, and Karen’s waiting for Lip at the Gallagher home. Despite a few mishaps, Mickey tries to convince himself that everything is going according to plan.

But what Mickey doesn’t expect is Terry Milkovich and his fists.

As Mickey bends over a cluster of bushes, trying to look for Svetlana’s magic potion, he feels a vicious kick at his side. He quickly realizes that Terry doesn’t need a reason to rain his punches down on Mickey’s face, and Mickey’s hobgoblin magic can do nothing to stop Terry’s will.

Terry is slurring curses, his face red with anger. “It was you, wasn’t it? You stole my fuckin’ money, you fucker!” He throws several punches at Mickey’s ribs, starts clawing wildly at his face, his back, his chest. The more Mickey tries to resist or make protests, the angrier Terry gets. Eventually, Mickey stops fighting back. With a final, punishing blow to the corner of his head, Mickey drops onto the ground like dead weight, coughing up blood.

It’s the first time since his physical transformation that Mickey feels truly human, weak against pain and abuse. For once, Mickey wishes he had the protection of his hobgoblin skin – as ugly and wretched as it may be, at least no one would lay a finger on him like this.

“That’ll teach you!” Terry yells, tossing his bottle over his shoulder. It crashes on the gravel, and Mickey is desperately thankful that Terry misses his head by a few inches. Mickey cracks an eye open and he sees Terry sloppily walking away.

As Mickey slumps over the gritty sidewalk, clutching his ribs in pain, a pair of glittering, green eyes becomes his final thought before his own eyes shutter close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was fun but it was a pain to get the names right! I was getting as confused as Mickey, lol. I hope it wasn't too difficult for you to tell the Gallagher brothers apart.
> 
> Thank you for reading. What do you think will happen next? Let me know what you think of the story thus far! :)


	3. Reason and love keep little company nowadays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey finally realises his mix-up.

“Mickey!” 

Mickey groans at the sound of his name, a burst of pain shooting up his spine.

“Mickey, wake up,” the same voice says urgently.

Mickey cracks his eyes open with some difficulty to see Lip Gallagher watching him anxiously.

Through his hazy thoughts, Mickey absently notes that Lip’s rust-colored hair is a strange mix of blood orange and rose gold as it glints in the light. Then a rush of panic hits him as he widens his eyes and catches sight of the brightening sky. Daybreak.

“Fuck!” Mickey curses, trying to sit up. 

He’s missed the magic hour, but weakened magic is better than no magic. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Lip demands, studying the bruises on his face.

Mickey ignores him. “Did you find it?” 

“What?” 

“My bottle.”

“Oh, right,” Lip proudly pulls out the purple vial. “Here! I found it behind the Jackson’s.”

A stab of dread hits Mickey when he grabs the vial.

“It’s empty.” He twists the bottle around in his hands. “It’s cracked!”

The smile on Lip’s face falters. “I didn’t do anything to it. When I found it, it was already broken.”

“Did you get it on your hands? Your eyes?” Mickey demands, grabbing at Lip’s hands.

Befuddled, Lip watches as Mickey inspects his hands, flipping them in his own. “What is it, some kind of drug?”

“Sort of,” Mickey answers absently. He doesn’t know what he is expecting to see on Lip’s hands. The potion is colorless upon application to the skin. He closes his eyes in exasperation, exhaling through his nose.

"I didn't take anything," Lip says defensively. "It was already empty when I got it."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't know even if you'd taken it accidentally," Mickey mutters under his breath.

Ok, calm the fuck down, Mickey thinks to himself.

All Svetlana says he has to do is to make the lovers fall in love with their respective partners. Things haven’t exactly gone the way Mickey planned, so Mickey will just have to resort to his own bag of tricks to make sure he fulfills his task – with _or_ without the love juice.

Mickey slips the empty purple vial back into his pocket.

“Mickey!” A new voice breaks his thoughts.

Mickey whips his head around to see his sister, Mandy, drunkenly sashaying towards the Milkovich house. 

“I think I’m in love,” she sighs dopily, smiling at her brother.

A flutter of excitement unfurls in Mickey’s stomach in spite of himself.

At least he did part of his mission right.

“Oh Mickey, you were right. He’s so handsome, and caring, and I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” Mandy gushes. She spins around and giggles like a Disney princess. 

“Mandy? What’s wrong with you?” Lip watches the dark-haired girl, his face torn between amusement and utter bewilderment.

“Ian? What are you doing here?” Mandy asks, twirling her hair with her fingers. “Oh Ian, I’m in love with your brother.” 

Mickey frowns, watching the exchange in confusion.

“Wait, which brother are you talking about again?” Mickey demands.

“Why, Lip, of course!” Mandy giggles, cheeks flaming. “He’s the most wonderful person ever.”

What the fuck?

Mickey jerks around to look at the redhead staring strangely at him. “What’s going on, Mick? Why’s your sister acting like that?”

“You’re -” Mickey chokes out, his voice strangled. “You’re _Ian_ Gallagher?”

Mickey quickly rifles through Mandy’s memories of the night before. Visions of the night's events appear in staggered flashes in his mind's eye.

_The study session doesn’t go as planned, because Karen Jackson turns up at the Gallagher house._

_The blue-eyed Gallagher (whose name is apparently Philip instead of Ian) tries to pacify both girls, but Mandy refuses to leave the house without Karen and Karen refuses to leave without Mandy. Eventually, they agree to sleep in the house and sort their differences the next day. True enough, Mandy wakes up at the Gallagher household to see Lip stirring awake._

_And when Karen Jackson finally wakes up, she’s stunned to see Lip Gallagher proclaiming his undying love for Mandy Milkovich._

_Thoroughly jilted and embarrassed, Karen stomps out of the house._

Mickey blinks slowly as he collects his thoughts.

“And where the fuck is Lip Gallagher?” Mickey asks, when he finally finds his voice again.

“He’s going to tell his parents that he wants to marry me,” Mandy tells him dreamily. “And I came back to tell Terry that I want to marry Lip.”

“Terry’s not around,” Mickey tells her numbly, still in utter shock. 

“What about Karen?” Ian-not Lip asks. “Lip told me he was in love with her.” 

Mandy stares crossly at Ian-not Lip, “No, he’s in love with _me._ ” She spins around dazedly, a dopey smile on her face. “And I’m going to get her to back off, tell her that she’s being delusional.” 

She turns to her brother, stamps a kiss on his cheek (which Mickey swipes off with the back of his hand), and says, “Thanks for last night, Mick. I know now that he truly loves me. Let me know when Terry comes back.” Then she turns on her heel and starts dancing down the street.

Ian-not Lip blinks twice, and then shakes his head. “Ok, fuck, whatever.” He turns to Mickey and reminds him, “The gun, Mick. You promised.”

Mickey ignores the redhead, stalking back into his room. He dives into his bed and plants his face into the pillow with a muffled groan.

His thoughts are buzzing like flies in his head. He wants to scream childishly into his pillow. Fucking Gallaghers. Fucking Terry. He may as well kiss his dreams of freedom goodbye, and await punishment from the Fairy Queen.

Svetlana has never had very high hopes for Mickey, but just imagining the sneers and disdainful looks from the rest of the fairy court is enough to make Mickey contemplate tearing his hair out in frustration.

He’s ruined the only chance for him to finally prove himself useful.

“Mickey, give me the gun,” Ian demands from behind him.

Mickey lets out a frustrated groan. “Alright, alright.”

He gets up and feigns rootling around his bedside table, before twisting around and throwing a hard punch at Ian Fucking Gallagher.

“This is all…your…fucking…fault,” Mickey grits out. He lands a devastating blow at Ian's abdomen.

“Nngh!” Ian groans, scoring a few hard hits into Mickey’s side.

They thrash around wildly and Ian manages to gain a short-lived upper hand by straddling Mickey, but Mickey hooks a leg around Ian's and flips them over almost immediately.

They stare at each other for a few silent moments, panting hard.

Much later, Mickey will look back at this very moment and try to dissect the scene to figure out what exactly went wrong. But now, Mickey’s deeply confused.

Because something in Ian’s eyes changes - a wild, dangerous spark - and Mickey feels a sudden, hot curl of desire in the pit of his stomach.

Fuck. No fucking way.

Mickey struggles to get away from Ian, but Ian starts to tug his pants down.

“Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Mickey demands. Ian pulls his shirt off his head and Mickey stops thinking. He studies the planes of his pale, freckled body, mesmerized.

“You want this, too,” Ian retorts, gracelessly reaching out to help Mickey to pull off his shirt.

Mickey watches, enraptured, as Ian licks his lips. The redhead scans Mickey’s body with wide eyes and his dark pupils dilate further.

And before Mickey can protest, he feels Ian’s _mouth_ on his collarbone, hot and wet and so fucking desperate. 

“No, no, no,” Mickey tries feebly. But what really comes out of his mouth is a breathless half-moan half-whine. And instead of pushing Ian away he’s pulling the redhead closer, _closer,_ until their sweaty bodies are connected from chest to hip to thigh. They are kneeling on the bed, hands wildly grasping at skin.

A gutteral, needy sound breaks at the back of Ian’s throat when Mickey instinctually bares his neck and arches his body towards Ian. They collapse in a heap atop Mickey's bed and Ian begins burrowing his face into Mickey's neck in earnest, making eager, almost primal noises.

“Wait, wait,” Mickey hears himself say, his words a contradiction to his movements. His voice is pathetic and his will is weak. It’s just been so long since he’s last… 

Then, Ian is straddling his hips and he’s sucking sloppily down his body and _shit, that feels good_ and Mickey’s brain just short-circuits.

Maybe just once…

Surely Svetlana won’t fault him.

Because Ian is touching him everywhere and Mickey’s finding it harder and harder to think clearly.

He’ll finish his mission, he promises himself weakly, as he fights back a moan. As soon as this is over, he’ll get his head straight and make amends.

Yes, that’s what he’ll do.

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey’s heart is beating wildly in his ribs and his body is slick with sweat. His skin is still mottled with injuries from Terry’s violence, but new marks – courtesy of Ian Fucking Gallagher - have bloomed across his pale body.

Beside him, Ian Gallagher is sucking on a cigarette, a lazy grin on his face. His free hand is absently tracing the bruises on Mickey’s skin and Mickey is horrified to realize that he’s been enjoying the light touches in his foggy afterglow. As he comes to his senses, Mickey grunts and shifts away from Ian’s touch. 

Amusement flickers across the redhead’s face at Mickey’s belated reaction. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out for Mickey, but the latter swats him away furiously.

His head is starting to clear now, and embarrassment, shame and anger are beginning set in. Embarrassment towards his own weakness. Shame towards his traitorous dick. Anger towards Ian’s fucking _mouth._ Mickey is beginning to suspect that he knows exactly where the last drop of the love juice was administered. 

“You took it, didn’t you,” Mickey says accusingly, cringing internally at his raspy voice. “The last drop.”

“What last drop?” Ian frowns, watching Mickey as he pulls on his clothes. “And where are you going?”

Mickey tosses him the gun distractedly, fixing his pants.

He has to focus. Ian Gallagher’s merely a little distraction. He’ll get over this _thing_ they have between them, make him fall in love with Mandy, and then sort out the Lip-Mandy-Karen triangle.

The slight problem is that he’s starting to suspect that things have gotten more convoluted because of the missing dose of the love potion.

His suspicions are confirmed when Ian tries – fucking hell – to _kiss_ him.

“Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out,” Mickey snaps agitatedly, turning away.

“You - ”

“You need to leave,” Mickey interrupts the redhead. “Now.”

Ian watches him carefully. “Ok, fine,” he says finally.

He tugs on his pants and pulls his shirt over his head, his eyes still on Mickey.

“Will I see you again?” The redhead blurts out.

Mickey rubs his forehead impatiently. “Just get out.”

Great, now Mandy’s in love with the wrong Gallagher, Karen’s still besotted with Lip, Lip’s not in love with Karen, and he’s pretty sure Ian’s been magically induced to fall in love with him.

 

* * *

 

The whole neighborhood has been buzzing with gossip about the Lip-Mandy-Karen triangle. To be fair, the triangle has existed since before Mickey’s interference. Except that before, Lip was in love with Karen, and Mandy had been the one pining for Lip. But as how neighborhood gossips go, the interest in Lip's sudden change in his feelings quickly dies down.

Though the ladies in the Southside are quick to swap their daily gossip about the love triangle for the latest news (about a school teacher who had an affair with her student), Karen is understandably still hung up on the sudden twist in her predicament. Confused and hurt by Lip’s sudden change in affections, she has been hounding the Gallaghers' household, persistently demanding an explanation from the blue-eyed Gallagher.

Meanwhile, although Mickey’s powers of persuasion have nothing on Svetlana’s love spell, the hobgoblin has been fruitlessly trying to convince Mandy about the merits of Ian Gallagher anyway. Having tied his soul to the Milkovich family, Mickey supposes that he’s got a stronger affiliation with his temporary sibling.

Mandy is trying on her thirty-fifth outfit for the day before her big date with Lip Gallagher, and it is more a different permutation of her limited wardrobe choices than a brand new look, but she’s determined to look her best anyway.

“Ian’s great for you. He’s smart, and he’s strong, and he’s doing well in junior ROTC, did you know that? Don’t you love a guy in army fatigues? He wants to be an officer,” Mickey says, trying desperately to get his sister's attention. 

Mandy rolls her eyes. “And get killed off at some -stan? Lip’s right. His little brother has a lame-ass hero complex.” 

Mickey rubs his face in frustration. What will Mickey give to be able to plot a whole background story for Mandy and Ian’s relationship? Sweet, idealistic Ian, full of righteous spirit, encountering a young Mandy, all spitfire and unbridled passion. Childhood sweethearts blossoming into a pair of lovers in an epic love affair. 

The fairies at the court would weep over this dramatic masterpiece. They do love their mortal melodramas.

But instead of crafting an epic romance, Mickey can only rely on not-so-subtle whisperings on the merits of Ian Gallagher. Because as much as the fairies try to meddle in affairs of the mortal world every once in a while, Mickey wields little authorial power over Mandy's story once her mind is set.

“Didn’t you tell me that Ian’s really nice to you? He’s protective of his siblings and respectful to the girls in class. Doesn’t that make him, like, a fucking ideal guy or somethin’?”

“Sounds to me like you’re the one in love with Ian,” Mandy muses, looking at her reflection through the mirror.

Mickey can only splutter in indignation.

 

* * *

 

 

Frustrated at the way things are _not_ moving along, Mickey decides to take a breather and he strolls absently down the streets, only to discover belatedly that he’s heading towards the Kash and Grab.

He’s about to turn away when Ian Gallagher catches sight of him. He bursts out of the shop and waves madly.

“Mickey!”

Mickey’s never one to shy away from awkward situations. He musters some courage, puffs up his chest, and walks towards the Kash and Grab, nodding at Ian as he passes him.

“What are you doing here?” Ian asks, a pleased grin on his face.

The redhead’s happy to see _him,_ Mickey notes fondly. Nobody’s ever fucking happy to see him, especially back where he lived with the fairies and goblins and otherworldly creatures.

But a new thought chases that stupid awareness away. Mickey mentally reminds himself that Ian’s under a very powerful spell. He doesn’t have any agency over how he feels.

“Just takin’ a walk,” Mickey says, thumbing at his nose. He walks along the aisles - stocked with curious mortal products - and adds a slight swagger to his steps. 

“Haven’t seen you around in school,” Ian notes, rubbing his neck shyly.

“Yeah, well. Been busy,” Mickey answers offhandedly.

“I’ve been to your place a few times, but you’re never around,” Ian admits.

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up.

Fuck, Svetlana’s love spell is potent as hell.

“Listen, what happened the other day was a mistake.” At least, this is what Mickey thinks he says.

But what actually comes out of his mouth is, “So…got any Slim Jims in this shithole?”

For a heart-stopping moment, Ian merely stares dumbly at him.

Then, a playful smirk spreads across the redhead’s face, his green eyes darkening.

“In the back,” Ian answers, cocking his head towards the other end of the store. He quickly flips the OPEN sign at the entrance to CLOSED, locks the front door, and drags Mickey by the hand to the back of the store.

Mickey barely resists the pull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super fun to write! I cringe internally whenever I try to write intimate scenes, so I tried to be more suggestive rather than graphic. I hope it worked for you. 
> 
> I hope you had fun reading too. What do you think Mickey will do next?


	4. The course of true love never did run smooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is terrified.

Mickey knows that he should stop this.

He knows that the right thing to do, will be to admit that he’s fucked up his mission, get Svetlana to give him a new bottle of _love-in-idleness_ and set things straight. He may never escape his eternal enslavement, or possibly be punished for his failure, but it’s the right thing to do.

But with Ian sucking messily on his neck, his body warm and pliant against his back, his long fingers threading through Mickey’s and those on the other hand bruising his hips, Mickey’s starting to forget exactly what is so _wrong_ about fooling around with a lovesick redhead.

Mickey is biting down harshly on his lip, nearly drawing blood. His fingers are grasping tightly onto the fence around the dugouts. He can feel Ian rubbing his faint stubble against his shoulder blades.

Like a choreographed performance, the sprinklers on the baseball field spit sharp bursts of water into the night air. Mickey shudders, breathing slowly as he feels the tension deflate from his body.

Ian slumps against him, and Mickey allows him to recover for a few moments before he jerks his body backwards.

“Ok, get off me.” Mickey mutters.

Ian drops a kiss on Mickey’s bare shoulder before he can protest, and pulls himself off Mickey’s body clumsily.

Mickey wants to tell him off, smack him, stop him from touching him too intimately, but Mickey knows that Ian’s just under a deep enchantment, so he can’t really fault him.

But Mickey is starting to feel the strangest stirrings when Ian would look at him too intensely, or hold him too closely.

It’s dangerous, and Mickey knows that he should come to his senses before he, too, becomes foolish under the confusion of the love spell. 

So Mickey averts his gaze as Ian grins at him.

When Ian starts to open his mouth, Mickey desperately interrupts him with some random trivia. “Always wanted to do that here. Get back at that little league commissioner who kicked me off my baseball team for pissing on first base.”

He mentally starts to fill up details in the patchy storyboard of his human memories.  

Stick to the script, he tells himself internally. He’s a wanderer, a visitor; and he has to assimilate to hide his true identity. When it’s time to leave, he’ll have to unpick his threads from the hastily stitched memories, so that he may free himself and free the humans from this altered reality. 

“I remember,” Ian chuckles. 

“You heard about that?” Mickey laughs, tugging his pants back on. 

“I was playing second,” Ian grins, lighting up a cigarette. 

Mickey jolts with a start. Like a ripple of energy, the foggy illustrations of his human memories start to flash with greater clarity. Little Ian Gallagher squinting in the sun under his hat, a smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. His lips are stretched into a wild grin as he watches a tiny Mickey Milkovich, feral and angry, undoing his pants and wetting the first base. 

How the fuck…? 

“You’re not supposed to do that,” Mickey hears himself say tersely. 

“What?” 

“I’m the one creating my story, you’re not supposed to be able to…rewrite it,” Mickey mutters under his breath. 

He hadn’t intended for Ian Gallagher to feature much in his childhood memory.

His story is a front, a cover for his new identity. A means to an end. It’s hazy and incomplete for a reason; so that the humans won’t be able to tie him down, and more importantly, so that he will be able to eventually release himself from mortal entanglements. 

But somehow Ian has breached Mickey’s loosely crafted narrative. Ian is writing his own story, his own version of events, and he’s somehow included Mickey in his childhood memories. 

“Didn’t catch that, what did you say again?” Ian turns Mickey around gently by his shoulders. 

Mickey shrugs him off angrily. “Fuck off.” 

His head is hurting.

Then, a faint rustle surrounds the dugout and new memories start sprouting up like a flipbook of snapshots. 

Ian, about nine years old, holding back tears after skinning his knees at little league training; Mickey, nearly ten, pushing a bright red popsicle into Ian's tiny hands with a scowl. Ian, ten years old, trailing behind the Milkovich siblings like a lost puppy as they go on a treasure hunt. Ian, older now, teary-eyed and running to the Milkovich place after their flighty mother appears abruptly.  

Mickey sucks in a breath, staggering backwards.  

“Mickey, are you ok? You look…like you’ve seen a ghost.” Ian grabs him again, holds him steady.

He studies Mickey’s face closely. 

“What the fuck are you?” Mickey demands, pushing Ian off roughly. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“Mick -” 

“How the fuck - ” Mickey breaks off, breathing heavily. “You’re messing with my fuckin’ head!”  

This isn’t supposed to happen. Ian Gallagher’s not supposed to be nursing some sort of childhood crush for Mickey. Mickey is supposed to be a passing fling, meant to be forgotten like the summer breeze once Ian breaks out of the love spell. 

He stalks off angrily, ignoring Ian’s puppy eyes. He feels his hands shake treacherously, and he locks them in tight fists. Ian chases after him, grabbing him by the arm. 

“Mickey, what the hell is going on?” 

“Don’t touch me!” 

Immediately, Ian retracts his hands, as if he were being burnt. 

“Tell me,” Ian pleads, green eyes flitting around Mickey’s face. 

It must be Svetlana’s _love-in-idleness._ Some side-effects of the love potion. A sick trick to confuse Mickey in his quest. He’s been wasting too much time, losing himself in the confusion of magic and _goddamn_ feelings.

He needs to get Svetlana’s help and get the fuck out of here. 

“Fuck off.” 

“No,” Ian grits his teeth, crowding Mickey back against the scaffold of the bleachers. “Not till you tell me what’s going on.” 

“It’s none of your fucking business!” Mickey averts his eyes, refusing to get caught up in Ian’s gaze. 

“You’re my fuckin’ business!” Ian retorts fiercely. “Look at me, Mick.” 

Mickey ducks his head, but Ian grips his chin and forces him to look back at his intense stare. 

“I know what I feel,” Ian begins shakily. He clears his throat. “I…I care about you, Mick. And I know you want to be with me, too. You can’t fake that.” 

Mickey feels a painful squeeze in his ribs.  

“Fuck. Ian, you don’t know what you’re saying. ” 

“I know that what we have is real,” Ian continues earnestly, staring into Mickey’s clear, blue eyes. “I think…I think I’m falling for you, Mickey Milkovich.” 

Mickey feels lightheaded.  

A wild stab of panic hits his gut, and he feels his eyes sting. 

“You’re wrong,” Mickey spits, drawing his eyebrows together. “You don’t even know me.” 

Mickey pushes Ian away with a rough shove. He wishes he had the power to will Ian to see the truth, to make Ian realise that _this_ is nothing but a mistake.

Shutting his eyes, he mutters a new incantation.  

New threads start winding around the two like a complicated game of cat’s cradle.  

He spins new tales, old episodes of the Milkovich brothers fag-bashing and taunting homosexuals in the neighborhood. He stains Ian’s rose-colored illustration of their childhood friendship, polluting its innocence with violence and deceit and cruelty. Years of disappointment. Years of estrangement. Reconnecting with Ian only for sex. Fucking around with Ian at the back of Kash and Grab, getting caught by Frank, and going back to juvie just to avoid getting caught. 

Ian’s eyes glaze over briefly, and then he inhales sharply, like he’s been sucker punched in the stomach. 

“Is this what it’s about?” Ian sneers. “You’re afraid to be who you are?” 

Mickey ignores him, trying to move away. He can’t influence or change Ian’s will, but with their sudden connection, Mickey can weave lies to his narrative, and modify the finer details of their shared memories. 

“Mickey -” 

“You think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend here? You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me,” Mickey curls his lips callously. 

“You’re lying,” Ian breathes out. He backs Mickey into a wall, trapping Mickey with his arms. “Look at me and tell me you don’t care for me.” 

“I - ” Mickey glances back up at Ian, and the words that bubble up his throat are silenced abruptly. 

A new look of determination crosses Ian’s face as he studies Mickey’s expression.  

“You love me, and you’re gay.” 

Mickey is about to protest, but Ian pins him down with his mouth and whatever retort he’s had in mind disappears. 

Mickey wants to punch him, wants to push him off. He wants to crack open his chest and rip out his heart, and shove the bloody thing at Ian’s face and shout, _See? You’re wrong. You could never love me._

And he’s thinking this, even as he surges back into the persistent heat of Ian’s lips, as he fists his hands in Ian’s hair. Because this is _wrong._ Mickey’s not meant do this. Ian’s not supposed to feel this way. Because Ian doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he’s feeling.  

But the redhead is coaxing Mickey gently, with soft lips and hard fingers.

And it’s so easy for Mickey to pretend that Ian wants this as much as Mickey does.  

 

* * *

 

 _You love me, and you’re gay._

_You love me._

The words replay again and again in Mickey’s head.

Mickey can still feel the phantom press of Ian’s lips against his. 

And the hobgoblin is fucking terrified. Because Ian may not know that he’s under a spell, but Mickey’s clear-headed and _goddamn_ stupid. 

He needs to get his old life back. He doesn’t care about eternal enslavement. He doesn’t care for his freedom. He’ll take what he gets as a lowly hobgoblin for the rest of his life.

Because at least as a hobgoblin he owns his own mind, his own fucking heart. He's seen enough to know how dangerous it is for a creature of magic to be tied down by mortal desires. Fairies have gone mad, sprites have lost their gifts, goblins have been betrayed. Again and again.

Svetlana can dish out whatever punishment, and he’ll accept it and be thankful. He’ll rip out the threads of his fake human life and be thankful. He’ll snip away all the mortal entanglements and regain his sanity.

Sure, he may have to live with the battered, loose ends of this fake, broken life, and it may hurt now and again. But time heals all wounds. And with an eternity of being enslaved, Mickey will have nothing but time. 

A clean slate. 

That’s what he needs.  

So he makes his way to the fairy court by foot. It takes three earth days and nights. He could have used magic to get there in a faster time, but Svetlana has always been one for melodramatic and impractical expressions of sincerity.

The more sincere he appears to be, the likelier she’ll accede to his request. 

“Mikhailo,” Svetlana purrs, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “I see you’ve finally come to ask for help.” 

Mickey snaps his head up.

The Fairy Queen is perched in her nest in the heart of Fairyland, her hair adorned with oxlips and violets. 

“I beg of you to revoke the magic on the humans. I’ll do anything,” Mickey says. 

“Ah, but such powerful magic cannot be reversed. Surely you know that?” 

“I do know that,” Mickey begins. He’s thought this through. “But surely a newer application of a more powerful magic can overwrite the effects of the love spell.” 

Svetlana arches an eyebrow in response. “And what do you have in mind, young Mikhailo?” 

“A dream,” Mickey says shakily. He inhales deeply and repeats, “A dream spell. I’ll…I’ll do anything. You can punish me, though I don’t know what can be worse than eternal enslavement. But like I said, I’m willing to do anything.” 

Svetlana purses her lips in consideration. “A dream spell will not reverse the magic, but the mortals will believe everything to be nothing but a dream. But how will this rectify the error of the quest?” 

Mickey remains silent. 

The Fairy Queen watches him carefully with a calculating expression. Then, she smiles beatifically.

“Fine, Mikhailo. I shall accede to your request. After the dream spell, everything will be as it was before your interference. Philip and Karen will revert to being in love. I shall give you another single drop of the love potion.”  

She adds, “You may then apply the new dose of love potion on Mandy Milkovich. So that she may move on from her unreciprocated crush on Philip.” 

Svetlana plucks an orange and peels its skin carefully.

“As for Ian Gallagher…” 

Mickey shudders. “I shall carry out your orders as your please, Your Highness.” 

“I shall leave the choice up to you,” Svetlana smirks, a playful glint in her eyes. “When he wakes up from the dream, you may choose to use the single drop of love potion on him, and make him love you again. Mandy Milkovich will simply continue to pine for young Philip.” 

“What? No, I can’t - ”

“Your choice will decide your eventual punishment, Mikhailo. I shall be keeping a close watch.”

“Thank you,” Mickey finally mumbles.

“I’m sure you’re well aware, Mikhailo, but the dream spell can only influence those afflicted by the magic. Your feelings for Ian Gallagher cannot be erased by the dream spell.”

“Yes,” Mickey whispers with a deep bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After having written out the story in full, I've decided to split the last section into two parts so the story will end after 6 chapters instead of 5. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. I hope you enjoyed reading!


	5. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries fixing things.

Mickey raises his head to look at the bright, round moon, and with a start; he realizes that it’s been a full month since he’s first arrived.

Perched on a tree, the hobgoblin surveys the gritty neighborhood, blue eyes trailing over its divots and cracks. There is a beauty about the Southside, with its rough lines and sharp edges, which may not be immediately apparent to the untrained eye. 

He spots a roguish boy hiding around a corner, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. But as he rounds the bend, he comes face to face with a little girl, who offers him her candy, and he offers her a shy, toothy smile. He sees a nasty old cook at a small, dirty eatery, shooing away a pack of noisy children. But the man later ducks through the backdoor to drop some scraps for a stray dog.

Then he swivels his head around to peer through the windows of dirty house. A pair of brothers are sharing weed, shoulder against shoulder, elbows nudging ribs playfully. Then one of them stands up, cocks his head, and the other follows. The pair gradually disappears into the night, sounds of their laughing and play fighting trailing off.

Mickey jumps lightly from the tree, loping into the house. He feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when a pair of blue eyes, framed with dark ink, flickers over to him.

This time, however, Mickey squares his shoulders with a different purpose. He is carrying two vials with him: a blue vial for the dream spell, and a new purple vial containing a single, precious drop of _love-in-idleness._

“Mickey, where the hell have you been?” Mandy calls out.

“Just…around.” Mickey mumbles, his voice soft.

His sister frowns at him. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey retorts.

“Ok, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Mickey ignores her, slumping onto the couch. Mandy instinctually shifts her feet, only to place them on top of her brother’s legs. Mickey picks them up and promptly drops them away from his thighs.

“Well, anyway,” Mandy continues, unperturbed. “Lip and I were looking at wedding dates! And apparently, the Gallaghers are Catholic. So we were thinking of a nice church wedding, and I’m going to wear a fucking big, white dress - ”

“Mands,” Mickey interrupts. “Would you still be in love with Lip Gallagher if he didn’t love you?”

“The fuck kinda question is that?”

“A serious one.” 

Mandy snorts, eyeing her brother. “I don’t know,” Mandy answers. “Maybe?”

“Even if he doesn’t love you? Even if it’s gonna fucking tear you apart?”

“I can’t answer you, fuck. Love is love. Even if he didn’t, I’d wanna be honest to myself, y’know? If I love him, I love him. It just is. Doesn’t matter if he loves me back or not. But thank fuck, 'cause he’s head over heels for me!” 

Mickey nods, blinking at his sister. He pulls his hands out from his pocket, unscrewing the blue vial. Slowly, he blows the glittery dust, spiraling up from the vial, into his sister’s face.

“What the fuck? What did you do?” Mandy sniffs the air. “Is that perfume?”

“Helps you sleep better,” Mickey mutters absently.

He feels the weight of the purple vial in his pocket, but he ignores it.

“Huh. Smells pretty good.”

“I’m heading out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lip Gallagher earns another black eye.

Mickey blows the dream spell into his face when he is clutching his eye in pain.

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey finds Karen heaving sobs into her hands like an actress in a soap opera when he arrives at the Jackson’s place (after removing his shoes).

“I didn’t even know that I loved him!” Karen wails, sniffing on her couch. “I thought it was just sex.”

“Yeah, it can feel that way, I guess.” Mickey mutters.

“When he loved me, I didn’t even think of how happy I was with him around. But now that he doesn’t love me anymore, I remember all those moments so clearly." 

“He’s just confused.”

“Your bitch of a sister must be choking with excitement. Apparently they’re already planning the fucking wedding.”

“Hey, my sister didn’t do anything wrong,” Mickey frowns. “Lip’s the one who can’t make up his goddamn mind. S’not her fault.”

Technically Lip can’t be blamed entirely, but Karen doesn’t know that.

“Anyway, I’ll fix things, ok?” He pats her shoulder softly.

Then, he plucks out the blue vial from his pocket and blows the spell towards her face.

Karen hiccups, slowing her breathing. She blinks away her tears.

“You know what? I’m beat. I think I’m gonna crash,” She yawns, waving Mickey goodbye.

Three humans down.

One more to go.

   

* * *

 

 

When Ian Gallagher sees Mickey, he punches him with an angry snarl.

“Ow, what the fuck, Gallagher!” Mickey yells, clutching his bloody nose and stumbling backwards.

Ian then paces restlessly, his sneakers crunching against the dry sand under the bleachers.

“Where the fuck have you been? I tell you I wanna be with you, we fucking kiss, and then you disappear on me? For a whole fucking week?”

“Calm the fuck down, Firecrotch,” Mickey mutters, eyeing the blood on his fingers critically. “Went on a drug run.”

Ian pauses, frowns at him. “Mandy didn’t even know where you were.”

“Right now, Mandy doesn’t care about anything beyond Lip and her big white wedding.” Mickey points out. 

The redhead moves closer now, inspecting Mickey’s nose with a guilty expression. “So, you really weren’t running away?” 

Mickey doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he shrugs off his backpack, pulls out a can of beer, and stabs it with his pocketknife.

“Shotgun,” Mickey mumbles. He brings the newly split opening of the can to his lips and cracks the tab open. Guzzling down the bittersweet tang of the beer, Mickey leaves about half the drink, before slotting the mouth of the opening against Ian’s lips.

Ian gulps the beer thirstily, crushing the can when he empties it.

“You could’ve called, or texted. I was worried,” Ian says, fiddling with the loose tab on the beer can.

“Dude, I’ve been on these fuckin’ runs since I was five or somethin’,” Mickey scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well.” Ian mutters, though both men are well aware that the redhead wasn’t entirely worried about the drug run. But neither comments on Mickey’s weak deflection.

Mickey rakes his hand through his dark hair. “Look, I wasn’t…” He huffs. 

Ian is trying to keep his face carefully blank, but Mickey can see through the cracks of his lover’s façade.

“C’mere,” He finally sighs, stepping towards Ian. He tugs his fingers around the nape of Ian’s neck and pulls him close.

Their noses are nearly touching as Ian scans Mickey’s face.

“I just needed some time away. To think. About us.” Mickey admits. 

“And how did that go?” Ian whispers, his expression cautiously hopeful. He loops his arms around Mickey’s body, tightening instinctually as Mickey shifts his weight.

Mickey merely crushes his lips against the redhead’s. He feels Ian jerk slightly in surprise, and then the corners of his lips curl up against Mickey’s mouth. 

The kissing eventually becomes too sloppy when Ian starts laughing and Mickey can’t help his amused smirk. They gradually start giggling against each other like schoolgirls, forcing them to reluctantly break apart.

Ian cups Mickey’s cheeks carefully, his green eyes bright and dancing with mirth. But the amusement slowly fades and his expression melts into something akin to curiosity. He studies Mickey’s face almost critically, as if Mickey were a difficult puzzle. Then, slowly, softly, Ian whispers, “I love you.” 

Mickey gazes back into the glassy eyes of his lover, his own eyes turning wet.

“You’re under my skin, man,” he finally breathes out.

To his surprise, Ian chuckles. “I wish I could get into your head, Mick. I can’t get you out of mine, but I never know what you’re thinking.” 

He runs his knuckles tenderly across Mickey’s cheek, smiling softly. “At times I feel like there’s only the two of us, that you’re right here with me. But sometimes when I look at you, it feels like you’re so fucking far away...as though you belong to another world.”

Mickey feels a rising lump in his throat as he watches Ian's flaming cheeks. The redhead ducks his head shyly. "Fuck, that's cheesy," he mumbles, laughing.

Mickey chokes out a strangled laugh and presses his lips to Ian’s neck, wrapping his arms around the redhead, trying to show him through his actions how much he wants to be with him. 

“Fuck,” Ian presses a kiss against his lover’s temple. “Come home with me, Mick.”

“Hmm?” 

“Come back with me,” Ian says, his voice low and soft. “I want you. So fucking much.” 

The dark-haired man pulls back, smiling tightly. “You have me,” he finally replies. 

Ian’s answering grin is blinding.

   

* * *

 

 

Ian leaves butterfly kisses all over Mickey’s body on his childhood bed. It used to be a fantasy to have a boy that he liked on his bed, an unrealistic hope that could never be realised. As he watches the way Mickey is writhing and shaking and sighing under him, Ian can’t help but shiver with pleasure and amazement at the sheer wonder of it all.

He touches Mickey reverently, playfully. He nips teasingly on Mickey’s lips and jaw. There is lightness in his movements as he tries to tell the dark-haired man, _We can have this together._ _We can be happy._  

They move quietly in the dark, because the baby is sleeping three feet away.

As they kiss, Ian’s fingers trail lightly along the contours of Mickey’s body. They dance slowly on pale skin, because Ian wants to savor every moment. Because Ian is free to touch Mickey. Because Mickey _wants_ him.

“Mine,” Ian pants, sucking and licking indulgently on Mickey’s neck. He pulls back briefly to admire his handiwork, before diving back to leave more marks on the beautiful boy trembling beneath him.

He doesn’t say anything when Mickey pulls his face towards his and leaves a stinging bite, almost desperately, on his lower lip. He doesn’t think much when Mickey’s fingers press bruising touches on his hips. When tears start collecting at the corners of Mickey’s eyes, Ian merely brushes them away with a soft smile. Because they’re finally together; and his lover trusts him to finally show him his emotional side, brutally tamped down by years of anger.

And Ian wants to gather all the broken fragments of this boy, uncurl his hard fists, and fall so deep into his far-away eyes - until they become so profoundly tangled up in each other and the boy will finally let him in.

When he finally yawns, he smiles sleepily at the blue-eyed boy staring at him and lays a palm over his heart. “G’night, Mick,” he whispers.

Mickey has an unreadable expression on his face. As Ian closes his eyes, he feels his lover brushing his fingers against his cheek. Then, he blows gently against Ian’s face, his sweet breath fanning across his skin.

“Sweet dreams, Ian.”

When Ian wakes up the next day, he is alone in his bed.

   

* * *

 

 

The next day, when Lip Gallagher blinks awake and rubs sleep from his eyes, he feels the last vestiges of his dream slip away. He places a hand across his heart and feels his pulse beat to the cadence of his longtime girlfriend’s name: Karen Jackson. Grinning softly to himself, he swings his body out of his bed and rushes to the bathroom. He smirks when he notes that it is unoccupied.

The next day, when Karen Jackson squints into the daylight streaming in from her window, she feels the strange heartache in her chest dissipate. She briefly considers going over to the Gallagher’s house to see Lip, but she shakes away the thought. Her mother has been bugging her about cleaning up, so she decides to take the chance to clear her old things and redecorate her room.

The next day, when Mandy Milkovich rolls out of bed, she feels the phantom presence of _someone_ in the house. Someone’s missing. She hasn’t had this feeling ever since her mother died when she was little. But still, she makes a quick trip around the rooms: Terry’s drooling on his bed, Colin and Iggy are still snoring in a heap, and the spare room – aside from dirty clothes and cardboard boxes on the ground – is empty as always. Mandy pauses in her inspection, shaking her head as if to clear it.

Walking out, she spots a strange purple vial by the kitchen sink - an exquisite bottle with floral embellishments. Wrinkling her nose, she opens the bottle. It’s empty.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you do it, Mikhailo? You could have given the love potion to Mandy Milkovich.” 

“Your Highness, she deserves to choose who she wants to love. And she deserves to find someone who loves her honestly for who she is.” 

“And Ian Gallagher? You could have given him the potion. You care for the boy, don’t you?” 

“Ian doesn’t…He deserves everything. He deserves someone better.” 

“…Very well. And you are willing to accept your punishment? No matter what your fate decrees?” 

“Yes, Your Highness. You have my word.”    

 

* * *

 

 _After_  

It is too early to be awake, but Ian sits up against his headboard, raking his fingers through his hair slowly.

He darts a quick glance over to the sleeping forms of his little brothers, Carl and Liam, and blinks slowly to adjust against the light. After a few moments watching Carl’s chest rise and fall, he snags the tiny pill box by his bedside, heaves himself upright, and pads quietly to the bathroom. 

Ian cups a hand under the running tap, tosses two different pills onto his other palm, and slugs his medication down his throat, swallowing hard. He closes his eyes and steadies himself with his hands at the sides of the sink. He knows by experience that the shakes go away fairly quickly, and he breathes slowly through his nose and counts in his head. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._ It takes about four sets of ten for the trembling to finally subside. 

It’s been over two years since he’s stabilized and developed a routine, and slightly under a year since he’s had a stable job. Ian thinks he’s starting to get used to his life, but he still hates having the shakes.

Ian slips into his running shoes, tucks a hat snugly onto his head, zips up his windbreaker. He goes on his usual circuit, calves pumping as he jogs slowly along the stretch at North Wallace. He can hear his pulse in his head, a steady, thrumming beat. It’s a reliable sound now, but Ian remembers when his pulse had a different meaning, when it bounced to the heavy bass in the clubs at Boystown. Back when Ian moved his body to calloused hands slipping money down his gold booty shorts. Back when Ian had been unstable. Dangerous.

Crossing over to the dugouts near his high school, Ian slows down, takes a long swig of water from the water cooler. The water has a metallic taste, but Ian drinks thirstily and swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He studies the empty baseball diamond, trails his eyes over to the bleachers. Dark hair. Soft lips. Blue eyes.

Ian shakes his head, his heart beating erratically. 

He picks up his speed and races home.

Mandy is sitting at the front steps outside the Milkovich home, lips around a cigarette. An easy grin sneaks up Ian’s face as he jogs up to her. They became fast friends during their second year of high school.

Ian doesn’t quite know why, but Mandy reminds him of good thoughts, makes him feel at home. Sometimes, even more so than his own family.

“Hey,” he greets her.

“Hey.” Her blue eyes are clear. At peace. Ian remembers a time when Mandy’s eyes were always cloudy with sadness and self-loathing. It was after she’d broken up with Lip after a short-lived relationship. Then, she got into an abusive relationship with Kenyetta. It took almost a year for her to finally realize that she didn’t need to grovel in a relationship to be happy. A year for her to realize that she deserved someone who loved her.

Ian loves the person Mandy has become. Strong. Independent.

“How was the date?” Ian hops down beside his friend.

“It went ok,” Mandy grins, and then she hesitates. “He asked me out for dinner again next week.”

Ian whistles lowly. “That’d be the third date right? You must really like him, Mands.”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s nice.”

Then Mandy turns to face him. “How’re you? Doing good?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods, blowing out a breath. “I think this is the longest I’ve been stable since the last episode.”

“That’s great, man. Proud of ya,” Mandy smiles, punching his shoulder. “So…you seein’ anyone?”

The small smile on Ian’s face falters.

Mandy stares at him. “Dude, you’re not still hung up on that...dream guy right?”

The redhead rubs his face roughly. “I don’t know, Mands. I know now it was a fuckin’ dream. But he felt so real.”

If Fiona or Lip knew that Ian was still thinking about the blue-eyed man in his dreams, they would freak out, shut down his imaginative blabbing, and dial his therapist’s number.

But this is Mandy, and if anyone would listen, it’s her.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mandy says.

“I know. I’m…It’s kinda fucked up, I guess.”

“ _Kinda_ fucked up? You _guess_?” Mandy repeats incredulously. “Ian, I still remember the day you crashed into my place, and how you went – how you’d reacted when you saw the purple bottle sittin’ on my coffee table. And then how you had fuckin’…withdrawal symptoms from that fucking dream. Like you’d gone off the rails. And then you tried to get into the fucking army - ” 

Ian cuts in, “Mandy, I didn’t go nuts because of the fucking dream. I got bipolar because of fucking Monica.”

Mentioning the name of his poor excuse of a mother used to stir something in him. Now, Ian merely feels numb.

“Ok,” Mandy concedes. “But have you talked to your therapist about this dream? I mean, it has to mean something if you have a recurring dream, right? Maybe your therapist does dream interpretation. Maybe your dream guy is trying to tell you something.”

Ian rolls his eyes fondly. “Dream interpretation, really?” 

“I’m serious, Ian. If it’s been eating you – ”

“I didn’t want to talk about him with my therapist because he’s…he’s not part of the crazy, ok? My hallucinations and manic episodes are different – I _know_ they are. Anyway I had that dream before I was fucking diagnosed. Way before I got fucked in the head. And…it sounds crazy, but it’s like a source of comfort. Almost.” 

“Comfort?” Mandy echoes. She isn’t being judgmental or rude. She looks at Ian curiously.

“When I get into one of my funks and I can’t fuckin’ get out of bed. Whenever I feel fucking useless. He makes me think about the good things I have. He pulls me back…from the edge.”

“Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Ian nods. “Fi and Lip think that’s the moment when my bipolar disease kicked in, when I woke up and wouldn’t stop obsessing over my dream. But honestly, they’re wrong. I may be…crazy, but I can tell the difference between a manic episode and a memo - and a dream. And I sure as hell wasn’t manic when I had that dream.”

Ian still remembers waking up one day, absently feeling for the warmth of a body beside him, only to realize he was alone in bed. He remembers the splitting headache he had for the whole damn day and the hollow pain in his chest. With a surge of inspiration, Ian had stomped over to the Milkovich place, his heart thumping hard as he crashed into their spare room. There was something decidedly different about the place, though Ian could not pinpoint why he’d thought so, because as far as he knew he had never set foot in the room.

And he sure as hell couldn’t identify the strange mix of emotions that had swelled up as he stared at the room. It felt almost like disappointment. And something that vaguely resembled _heartbreak_. He remembers the three Milkovich siblings staring at him in utter bewilderment as he broke down on their floor and wept as though he’d lost his mind.

The incident struck his older siblings as out of character for Ian, but they didn't question things until Ian began to obsessively investigate the foggy patches of his dream. There were strange details of his dream that felt too specific to be a product of his fertile imagination. It hardly helped that six months later; he went into his first serious manic episode. He'd impersonated Lip to get into the army but went AWOL before he could move past basic training, and did a bunch of outrageous things at the Fairytale where he'd started work as a dancer.

“And you’re sure it’s a dream now?” Mandy smirks. “Because you were fucking stubborn as hell when you burst into our house back then. You were hysterical. Iggy thought you were on drugs.”

Ian chokes out a laugh, then his smile fades. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just a dream. A fucking vivid one, but just in my head. I know that now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the end! I can't believe I finally wrote a multi-chapter story for Gallavich after putting it off for so long. 
> 
> It was a bit tricky trying to weave in the canon bits with the magic, and I didn't want to make it seem as though Ian got bipolar because of the interference of magic. I hope you had fun spotting the canon references in the past few chapters, though.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I can't wait for you to read the last chapter!


	6. No more yielding but a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian meets the man of his dreams.

_After_

Ian doesn’t really see anything special about the bar. It’s pretty low-key for a new bar nestled among the shiny retail outlets of the Northside, and isn’t really very different from The Alibi, a dingy old bar at the Southside that he used to frequent with his siblings. He nurses his beer, scanning the crowd in the dim, orange light. A few decent looking guys catch his eye and he feels a flicker of interest in his belly, coming alive like an old intuition.

There is a guy with dark hair and some peach fuzz around a nice pair of lips. Another older guy with glasses raises a brow at him, lips curving into a slow smile. But just as quickly, the desire extinguishes and Ian merely nods curtly at Glasses guy before turning his attention back to his colleagues.

Beside him, Scott is taking a swig of his second overpriced drink, with his cheeks already pink. “Pretty decent place, huh?” Scott says around the mouth of his glass. “Told ya it’d be chill.”

“S’not bad,” Ian murmurs, taking another slow sip of his beer. He can’t drink much while on his meds and he knows his colleagues aren’t going to give him a hard time about it. They know his condition. Ian decides to savor one beer slowly for the rest of the night.

“Three o’clock,” Sharon nudges him with a smirk. “Guy’s been checkin’ you out, Gallagher.”

She nods towards the older guy in glasses and Ian rolls his eyes. “Yeah I know.”

“Not your type?” She muses, her eyes dancing with curiosity. Ian shrugs.

Sharon sighs melodramatically. “Dude, you’ve gotta give me something to work with here. I thought we were friends. Surely friends tell one another their types?”

Ian huffs out a laugh. Scott and Sharon mean well, but Ian is really only at the bar to humor them. Being an EMT is a fulfilling job, but it gets stressful at times and Ian figured that he could use a well-deserved break. But barely an hour into their night out and he is already plotting an excuse to head home once Scott tips over the halfway point of being completely intoxicated.

“C’mon Ian,” Scott whines, his voice a little too loud. “We wanna help you get laid, man. You hardly hang out with us, and now we’ve finally dragged you here, you’re planning to just sit here and suck your...beer?”

“What’s so special about this place, anyway?” Ian finally asks, looking at his colleagues.

“They’ve got some fancy drinks here,” Sharon tells him, picking up her bright yellow cocktail. “This one’s called _Lighting in the Collied Night_.”

“And mine’s called _Love in Idleness_.” Scott tips the rest of his purple drink down his throat, his eyes rolling back.

“And mine is good old Heineken,” Ian raises his bottle, grinning.

“Bo-ring,” Sharon singsongs, shoving him playfully. “Come on, Ian. There must be someone here who’s pretty enough for you. You just have to look harder.”

“I’m zeroing in on Gorgy McGorgeous at nine o’clock,” Scott declares, swaying slightly as he stands from the barstool. “Seize the carp and all that!”

He claps Ian’s shoulder and heads straight towards a blonde girl with a tight dress.

“ _Gorgy_ McGorgeous? Seriously?” Sharon snorts into her drink.

“Seize the carp!” Ian grins, bumping his bottle slightly against Sharon’s glass.

“I’m gonna make my own catch, alright,” Sharon says, a slow smile spreading across her face. She nods towards a cleanshaven guy who is just making his entrance. “Later, Gallagher.”

Ian leaves about a quarter of his beer on the table, slides off his barstool, and prepares to leave, but he catches the bartender's arm sliding a tall glass over to him.

“One _Love in Idleness_ , from the gentleman on the far left.” A low voice murmurs behind him.

He glances to his left and sees Glasses guy raise his drink at him. Guy can’t take a fucking hint. Sighing, Ian turns to face the bartender.

“I don’t really - ”

The rest of the words die on his lips.

Because standing across the bar counter is none other than _him_.

Electric blue eyes stare back at him. Ian runs his gaze over the man’s face, his shoulders, his chest. The bartender’s dark hair is gelled back neatly. His lips are full and pink. His skin looks almost paper-white, even under the soft orange glow of the bar. It’s _him_. It’s impossible, but it’s him.

Ian only realizes that he is gaping silently like a fish when the man raises his brows pointedly.

“Dude, it’s paid for. Just take it,” the bartender tells him curtly. He wipes the table down with a small cloth and glides across to the other end of the counter.

“Wait - ”  
  
“Hey,” A new voice startles Ian. Fucking Glasses guy.

“I’m not interested,” Ian snaps impatiently, sliding his drink back to the older man. He brushes past Glasses guy and strides over to the bartender.

“Can we talk?” Ian asks as he leans over the counter, anxiety coloring his tone.

“Really? You’re hittin’ on the bartender?” Glasses guy scoffs from behind him. Ian ignores him.

The bartender looks up, fixes his blue eyes on Ian’s face, and Ian sucks in a sharp breath. This is unreal. This _can’t_ be real. But those eyes…

“What do you want?” He finally sighs.

“I just – Do you -” Ian exhales through his nose. Rubs his face. Bites his lip. “Can we talk? Please?”

Ian searches his face nervously. The bartender’s face is carefully blank, and he isn’t showing any signs of recognizing Ian.

“I’ll meet you outside in five,” He says, jerking his head back down to his drinks.

Ian breathes out slowly. Nods. He lingers a bit, watches the bartender move around the counter, before stepping out of the bar.

 

* * *

 

Ian is starting to panic that the bartender has forgotten about him, when he finally appears around the corner, his pale face partially masked by shadows.

The bartender’s blue eyes seem to gleam brighter in the dim light of the alley. Back in the interior of the bar, he looked distant and cold. But somehow, in the night sky, he looks almost vulnerable. Soft.

Ian wants to reach out and touch him, but he holds his hands stiffly around his torso instead.

“What d’you want?” The bartender mutters, not looking up at him.

“I -” Ian begins, wondering how to start the conversation. _Hi, my name is Ian and I think you may be the man of my dreams. Literally._

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Ian spits aloud. The word is a harsh whisper, piercing through the chill of the night air with a bite. He licks his lips, wringing his hands together like a gawky teenager. He wonders if the bartender thinks he’s crazy. He wonders if he _is_ crazy.

But to his surprise, the bartender laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls. “If you're lookin' for a fuck in the alley, you gotta have better lines, dude.”

“I don’t wanna fuck you,” Ian hears himself say. He swallows. “I mean, not here.”

The dark-haired man snaps his eyes back up. Scans Ian’s face with a faint curiosity.

“Can I…Can I kiss you?” Ian murmurs, one hand already rising up to touch the bartender’s cheek. He presses his palm against soft skin, feeling the man’s slight clench of the jaw under his fingers, and settles his other hand on the bartender’s waist.

He’s looking up at Ian with wide eyes, but he isn’t moving away. He doesn’t shove him off. Ian doesn’t close his eyes until he feels his lips press against the bartender’s plump ones. The kiss is soft. Sweet. Something locks into place in his chest, making him tremble.

As Ian pulls himself back, he feels a warm hand on his cheek. He blinks open his eyes and realizes that his cheeks are wet. The bartender is staring at him with an almost quizzical expression.

“It’s you,” Ian breathes out, diving back to kiss the man again.

He tilts his head, surging back into the bartender’s hot mouth, deepening the kiss. He takes advantage of the dark-haired man’s small gasp and licks his way into his mouth. Tastes his tongue. Sucks his lips. He brings up both hands to cradle the man’s face, thumbs rubbing persistently against his jaw, his cheeks, his chin.

“Mickey,” he whispers, resting their foreheads together. The name comes to him like a secret he has always known; a forgotten tome in the highest shelf of the library, once out of reach.

He feels the bartender tense under him.

“How did you - ” The man stutters. “I didn’t…You can’t…”

Ian feels a flare of panic swell in his chest when the man pulls back from him. Fuck. He can’t let the guy go. He can’t lose him. Not again.

“Wait, wait,” Ian says hastily. “I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t…” Fuck, he didn’t mean to blurt out a random name in his head. Even when experiencing a wild hangover, Ian has  _never_ called out the wrong fucking name during the mornings after.

“How did you know my name?”

Ian widens his eyes. Mickey. The bartender’s name is Mickey. And Ian knows his name.

“It’s impossible,” Mickey is saying distractedly, extricating himself from Ian’s hands. He paces around. “You couldn’t have remembered -”

“Mickey? Mick?” Ian says, testing the name on his tongue.

The bartender – Mickey – stops short. He turns and stares at Ian.

Ian studies the expression on Mickey’s face intently. It is a look of apprehension, confusion…and hope. Ian is trying to figure out the meaning of his expression when it hits him.

A giddy laughter rises up Ian’s throat and bubbles from his lips.

“Oh my god,” Ian whispers. “You’re real, aren’t you? Everything that’s happened…it’s real, isn’t it?”

Mickey’s eyes nearly bug out, his expression twisting in a strange mix of horror and amazement.

“How did we - ” Ian starts, then stops. “When did you - ” He tries but falters.

“Look, I - ”

“Wait. Stop.” Ian says loudly, crowding Mickey against a wall. “Don’t tell me. Don’t say it.”

“What?”

“I know that somehow, we knew each other. But you left,” Ian swallows. “And somehow _nobody_ remembered you. And even though I tried fucking hard to remember, I couldn’t hold onto everything. And it fucking killed me.”

Mickey looks stunned.

“It killed me, Mick,” Ian whispers, locking his eyes onto bright blue irises. The nickname slips from his tongue easily, like an old habit. “And it would kill me if you fucking…disappeared again. So no, I’d rather not know anything.”

The dark-haired man flits his eyes around Ian’s face.

“Why?” Mickey finally asks in a strangled voice.

“I know how this works, ok?” Ian mutters. “You have a secret. Obviously. And I know that once you tell me, or whatever, you’re gonna leave again. And I can’t deal with that. So what I’m proposing here is that you don’t tell me _anything_. I won’t say a word, I swear.”

The redhead feels his hands shake as his voice rises. “I don’t fucking care if you’re a…a fucking spy, or if you’re from the mafia…Heck, I don’t give a shit if you’re a…a goddamn _alien_. I don’t care who you are or what you are. I just want you.”

Ian softens his tone. Drops his shoulders. “I just want you, Mickey. Just so we’re clear. So please, don’t leave.”

Mickey licks his lips, ducking his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. You weren’t supposed to be able to recall anything. I’m sorry I messed with your head.”

“Mick, it wasn’t the… _confusion_ or the sudden patchy memory that messed me up,” Ian exhales in exasperation. “It was losing you. Losing my memories of you, part by part. Day by day. I fought to remember you, though. I wrote down whatever I remembered. The memories were hazy. Incomplete. But whenever a new detail appeared in my brain I'd write it down.”

The redhead huffs, continuing, “Nobody fucking believed me. They all thought I was obsessed with an overly vivid dream. But how else can you explain remembering stupid shit like…like you having a sweet tooth, or the way you used to bite your lip and scrunch your face, or the way you fucking _smell_. There were things I couldn’t put into words. Specific details that my brain can’t possibly conjure on its own.”

“How the fuck did you do that?” Mickey demands. “That’s not possible.”

Ian takes one of Mickey’s hands and gently places it across his own heart. “Because you’re in here. And I’ve felt you, _us,_ every single day since I woke up that day.”

Mickey stares at his palm, pressed against Ian’s ribs.

“You…you didn’t take the last drop,” Mickey marvels at the realization, looking back up at Ian.

“Huh?”

“You actually lo-” He trails off. Mickey wets his lips and blinks furiously, averting his gaze.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Ian whispers, settling his hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “I swear, I’m not…even curious about you. I don’t even care if you’ve…drugged me or whatever. Just…Please. Stay.”

Mickey snorts. “The mafia, huh? You think I’m secretly a drug lord?”

“I told you, I don’t care.”

Mickey huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re…somethin’, Ian Gallagher.”

Ian feels his ribs clench at the sound of his name. It is the ultimate proof that what they had before was real. That his feelings are real.

“So…are you? Staying, I mean.” He can hear hope in his voice, clear as a bell.

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes. “I gotta get back to work. But we’re closing in about…an hour.”

“Ok,” Ian answers slowly, tightening his grip on Mickey. “And then where will you be?”

“Home.” Mickey grins, and then hesitates. “D’you wanna…come to my place?”

Ian lets out a relieved chuckle. “Yes, I do.”

“Ok,” Mickey smiles, running his fingers hesitantly over the redhead’s hair. “Just…hang around the bar, or something. I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

“I’ll be around.”

 

* * *

 

Ian can’t keep his eyes off the dark-haired man flitting about the living room.

Even during the walk to Mickey’s small apartment, (his dream guy apparently lives in the _Northside_?) Ian couldn’t help sneaking glances over at the man. Even as he entered the apartment, absently taking in the minimalist décor, Ian couldn’t tear his eyes away. If Mickey had realized, he didn’t say anything.

And now, curled up in Mickey’s couch as the man weaves about his apartment with a laidback ease, Ian can’t stop watching.

“You want another beer?” Mickey casts a quick look over to Ian, catching him staring. “The fuck you lookin’ at, man?”

“No, I don’t want another fuckin’ beer.” Ian answers. “Can you stop moving about? Please just…sit.”

Ian pats the space beside him, raising a brow at Mickey.

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes. “I saw you, man. You’ve had like one drink the entire night.”

“You were watching me?”

Mickey slumps down beside Ian, averting his eyes. He’s close, but not close enough. Ian lets out an impatient noise and slides an arm around Mickey, pulling him flush against his side.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Mickey admits. “The bar’s been open for months now and I guess I was still half-hoping to see you around. But when you showed up suddenly it still…threw me off.”

Ian hums, running a hand down Mickey’s arm, reveling in the warmth and the soft skin. Reveling in the fact that he’s here. With him. A small part of his head worries about being too clingy. But a more dominant part of his brain wants to feel Mickey. And Mickey doesn’t seem to mind Ian’s touches. He leans instinctually towards Ian’s chest.

“And you came straight outta the left field when you walked up and spoke to me.” Mickey snorts.

Then he hesitates, and says, “I thought this was my punishment. That I’d have to live among you, without any of you remembering me.”

Ian frowns at him, not really understanding fully, but he doesn’t push for a clarification. Instead, he smiles. “I thought I was going nuts. I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Fucking weird,” Mickey agrees, and then backtracks when Ian’s face starts to fall. “I mean, I couldn’t…I didn’t even dare to hope, y’know? That we’d be…together.”

Ian nuzzles the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling deeply. “I know. Is it weird that I…feel like this is so new, but at the same time I feel like we’ve been doing this forever?”

Mickey laughs softly, making Ian grin against his neck. “I feel the same way, man.”

Then, unwittingly, the redhead yawns.

“Am I boring you here?” Mickey chuckles, watching Ian blink slowly.

“Course not! It’s just…way past my bedtime.”

“Bedtime.” Mickey echoes, scrunching his face. “Since when did you have a fixed bedtime?”

“Since I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”

Mickey freezes.

“It’s been, like, two years. I’m stable now,” Ian reassures him.

“That why you don’t drink?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t go well with the meds.”

Mickey nods, his blue eyes watching Ian intently. He cocks his head towards the bedroom. “Bed, then?”

Ian tenses up infinitesimally, then relaxes.

They walk side by side towards Mickey’s bed. And when Ian lies down, Mickey snuggles right up against him, looping an arm around his waist.

They don’t speak, listening to each other breathe softly in the quiet.

Ian’s eyelids are getting heavier, but he struggles to keep them open, watching Mickey’s face slacken as he drifts off to sleep.  
  
After what feels like a few seconds, he feels himself jerk awake and the movement causes Mickey to flutter his eyes open.

“What’s wrong?” Mickey whispers, rubbing his eyes. He inches his way upwards and drops a kiss on Ian’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep,” Ian exhales, struggling to focus his vision on Mickey’s sleepy blue eyes.

Mickey watches him quietly for a long moment. Then he sighs, pressing his lips to Ian’s for a long, drawn out kiss. Ian hums into the kiss, savoring the deliciously slow warmth swelling in his chest.

The dark-haired man gently arranges their bodies so that Ian’s head is resting over his chest and runs his fingers slowly down the redhead’s scalp.

“Go to sleep. I promise I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“And even after I wake up, will you stay?”

Mickey sighs. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me. I’m real. And I’m here.”

“I’ll always want you.”

“Good to know,” Mickey snorts. “Now that we’ve got that all cleared up, will you go the fuck to sleep, now? I’m fucking beat, man.”

Ian chuckles, slipping an arm under Mickey and another over his torso. Mickey hums and starts to drift off again.

But he floats back to wakefulness when Ian tenses his arms around him. “If I…If I tell you that I love you, you’ll still be here, right?”

“Seriously?” Mickey groans, the sound reverberating in his chest.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know, man? The last two times I told you how I felt, you fucking disappeared on me.”

“Fuck, you…you remember all of that?”

“Not everything,” Ian mumbles, listening to Mickey’s breaths echoing in his chest. “But I was trying to figure out what made you go. And those two memories stuck out to me. I think…we were at the dugouts when I first told you…that I was falling for you. And you'd disappeared after that. When you came back and I told you I loved you, you’d left again. I was wondering what I did wrong.”

Mickey swallows audibly. “Ian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Then he shifts himself so that they are face-to-face, noses nearly touching.

“I love you. So much. And I won’t leave you again, ok?”

Ian studies his expression critically. Then, satisfied with what he sees, he closes his eyes and burrows his face into the gap between Mickey’s neck and shoulder. “Ok, good night.”

“Thank fuck,” Mickey sighs dramatically, wrapping his arms snugly around his boyfriend.

 

* * *

  
The next morning, when Ian blinks awake, he feels his lips curve up into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thanks for reading all the way till the end. This is my very first multi-chap Gallavich fic, and I can't believe it's done. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you had as much fun reading it. 
> 
> It's been a while since I've written a fanfic, and over the course of working on this fic, I felt like my writing's gotten quite rusty, lol. I did also feel that my descriptions could have been better or less repetitive. I've also shelved aside some outtakes while writing, and I might revisit this verse again with extra scenes for fun if I get around to editing. But even if that doesn't work out, I'm definitely keen to work on another Gallavich fic.
> 
> I've left some aspects of the ending intentionally ambiguous, and I'd love to read about what you think. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm my own beta, so all mistakes are mine!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading. Comments and Kudos are most welcome!


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